A Blooming Story

On my morning walks along the LA River, yes, there is one. Well sort of one. Here and there. Here, it’s half low tide and the other half concrete but the family of ducks that live in it don’t seem to mind. Nor do the egret and the crane. Squirrels abound along the banks. Lofty pines and pines are dense and make it look more like Northern California.

Along the roadway atop the wash, as it is also called, is a guardrail. Inside the guardrail are rows and rows of bushes. Mostly holly with some wild flowers dotting the path. But there is, for all the world, tucked inside the bushes, one lone rose vine. One. The seed must have blown over from a yard across the street or hitched a ride with a bird.

About 10 days ago, I notice a brave little bud in that most unlikely setting.

I thought of clipping it and then thought: “It’s too soon. If I cut it now, it will never have a chance to achieve full bloom”. So, I left it and have watched it.

It started to open and then faltered. That’s when I took the first picture and opted to let it alone.

Yesterday I saw that the side where it had started to bloom was dark, dry and closing down the rest of the flower. I decided it had probably gone as far as it could, on its own.

I brought it in and stripped away the old, dead petals, put it in water with a little sugar and lo and behold, its opening again! And, hidden underneath the old petals were moist, supple, pinkish petals that would never have seen the light of day had I not taken it in.

It might not ever pose for ads in magazines and catalogues, but it’s having a longer run than it would have had that outer layer not been peeled away.

Hmm…